Faction Training Grounds

[Laphisto]

Laphisto's Gear: Customized Set of LO-58A, Broad Saber
Soldiers Gear:LO-58A ,LO-52R, LO-20D,LO-10M,LO-22S
Known armor AT-ASMKII

Laphisto had moved ahead of Iandre Athlea and the rest of Tarain's Sword, giving himself a respectable head start as he assumed temporary command of the Red Lancers the second full battalion the Lilaste Order had fielded. They were disciplined and eager, shaped by long months of drilling, but they still lacked the hardened battlefield experience that defined Tarain's Sword. That was exactly why Laphisto had chosen to lead them himself. He wanted to gauge the battalion's readiness and, just as importantly, to see how his apprentice would handle the burden of real command.

Everyone involved understood that this operation, though controlled, was a live-fire exercise. EMP rounds filled every magazine and power pack nonlethal, but potent enough to stun, knock combatants unconscious, or overload armor systems entirely. The danger remained real, yet measured. It would test instincts, decision-making, and cohesion under stress.

The exercise grounds lay deep within Moltok territory. Laphisto had secured permission to use one of their ancient stone temples as the Lilaste Order's forward operating base, and the Moltoks had agreed on one curious condition: that they be allowed to watch. They offered no explanation, and Laphisto saw no reason to deny them. Now they gathered silently along the periphery broad silhouettes, luminous eyes, and unreadable expressions observing in near-ceremonial stillness as the Lilaste Order set its pieces on the board.

Inside the temple, the holo-display flickered to life. Pale blue light washed across carved pillars and weathered murals as Laphisto leaned over the tactical map. He checked every marker twice, ensuring the system correctly reflected the position of each soldier. The objective he had prepared for Iandre was straightforward on the surface: secure the civilians clustered at the center of the region and eliminate enemy opposition. Straightforward, but layered. Designed to challenge every instinct she had been cultivating.

The battlefield was shaped with deliberate care. One company of Red Lancers had been deployed to the settlement west of the temple that served as his FOB. Another company had been positioned the middle village to the north, its narrow paths and clustered homes ideal for ambush and confusion. To both the eastern and western villages he had assigned five AT-ASMKII walkers each the squat, armored assault walkers that could turn the tide of an engagement simply by arriving. his men were in position now all they had to do was wait for Iandres arrival.

map:
Key
Red= Infantry
Teal = armor

 

[Kei Amadis]

Tag: Laphisto

Knelt in meditation as the shuttle descended, the disquiet in the Force was deafening. Each breath earned a heavy, hard-won calm for the Dark Jedi Master. A great weight pressed on him, resting upon an unshakable river of resolve.

Amadis wore his usual Triple-Ward Armor, now marked with the Liliaste Order, carrying a lightsaber at his side. Otherwise, he was outfitted like the rest of the group. His helmet sat beside him, face scarred by his own crusades; silver strands through his hair, and a deep weariness to his bearing. One of the troops again, as in the days long before, it was simpler this way. A return to what he had known in the First Republic before its fall. Before the Army of Light. Before the Silvers. Before his quiet retirement on Kashyyyk. Before his family, and before their butchery at the Mandalorian Empire's hands.

Their unit held a few wildcards. Once a special forces unit, reforged through many incarnations, it had become a place for old soldiers to retire. Some of the senior officers who remained were working with the Liliaste Order for the first time, trying to find their footing and learn to integrate.

Old soldiers. Like Amadis. No longer the fastest, but carrying experience to spare. He exhaled as the shuttle touched down, the ramp lowering. The older Jedi General rose. When his boots met the ground, his training came back, and the heavy burden where his heart used to be eased, for now.

"Ready for orders."

 

[Iandre Athlea]

The shuttle doors slid open with a low hiss, releasing Iandre into the thick, humid air of Moltok territory. The warmth clung instantly to the dark plates of her Lilaste Order armor, settling along the seams and catching faintly against the black braid that swept down her back. Tarain's Sword descended behind her in disciplined formation, each soldier encased in the same armor that marked them as the Order's finest. Their boots struck the jungle soil with quiet confidence, but beneath that precision pulsed an unmistakable tension—because everyone present understood the weight of what awaited them. Their opponent was already in the field. Not an enemy force, not insurgents, not Imperial remnants. But Laphisto himself. And that truth carried a gravity no soldier could ignore.

The ancient Moltok temple rose ahead, its carved stone arches half-claimed by vines and soft luminescent moss. Massive Moltok observers lined the edges of the clearing, their expressions unreadable and their glowing eyes tracking every movement with ceremonial solemnity. Under other circumstances, their silent scrutiny might have made Iandre feel exposed, but today the watchfulness only sharpened her focus. This was a proving ground—one Laphisto had chosen with deliberate intent.

Inside the temple, the blue wash of a holo-map flickered across towering stone columns, casting shifting light across the murals etched there by generations long gone. A Lilaste tactical officer stood waiting at the table's edge, snapping into a crisp salute the moment she approached. "Second Lieutenant Athlea. Your opponent is already deployed. Red Lancers are in full field formation per Master Laphisto's design." Iandre returned the salute with equal precision, armored plates clicking faintly as she stepped into the map's light and signaled for the briefing to continue. "Understood," she said, voice even. "Show me the field."

The map expanded, revealing the battlefield Laphisto had constructed with the ruthless elegance of a commander who understood terrain and psychology equally. Walkers were positioned along the flanks, creating zones of influence designed to lure inexperienced commanders into false openings. Infantry formations appeared scattered and lightly defended at first glance. Still, the spacing revealed a different truth: these pockets were bait, encouraging impulsive pushes that would collapse into enfilades and counterstrikes. Villages dotted the map like stepping stones, their placement forcing any advancing force to choose between predictable funnels or risky, concealed routes. And at the center of it all—the civilians she was meant to secure. A straightforward objective wrapped in layers of traps and misdirection. Classic Laphisto.

She studied the map in silence for a moment, the soft blue light reflecting in her grey eyes. Then she spoke, her tone measured.
"A clean objective… but crafted to punish predictability."
Her gaze lifted toward the horizon where she knew he waited, already setting his pieces in motion. There was no fear in her voice—only understanding.
"This is exactly what it looks like when he wants to see if I can beat him."

Heavy, grounded footsteps approached behind her. Amadis stepped forward, the weight of his years in war evident in every movement. His armor bore the marks of battles survived, and the steady calm in his presence was unmistakable. He offered a crisp salute. "Ready for orders." Iandre didn't hesitate; she shifted fluidly into command, without glancing back at the officer or toward the invisible place where her mentor staged his opposition. She had been trained for this moment, shaped for it. Now she had to prove it.

"Master Amadis," she began, her voice a calm current beneath the hum of the holo-map, "I'm assigning you to the northern infiltration element. He will expect a direct advance. We won't give him one." Her hand lifted to trace the arc of the northern village cluster. The route was indirect, demanding finesse, but if executed well, it could collapse the supporting structure of Laphisto's formation before he could redirect.
"Break their lines before they consolidate. We control the tempo from the first exchange."

She surveyed the map once more, her gaze sliding from the terrain to the silent Moltok observers, to her own soldiers waiting outside the temple, and finally settling on the thought of Laphisto—somewhere beyond the ridge, watching, analyzing, preparing.
"The Moltoks are watching. Tarain's Sword is watching." Her voice lowered to something steadier, sharper. "And he is watching. Every mistake will be measured."
But rather than shrink from the pressure, she embraced it as though it were a forge she intended to walk into willingly.

Her armored finger tapped the central corridor, where she planned to take her Sword directly into the heart of the engagement.
"Tarain's Sword advances through the center. Red Lancers on the east and west will hold until we collapse the middle." The conviction in her voice carried the weight of both strategy and promise. "I intend to win this engagement." There was no arrogance in the words—only determination.

She turned fully toward Amadis.
"Form on me. Five minutes to deploy."

As the holo-map dimmed and the temple's shadows lengthened around her, Iandre drew a steady breath and squared her shoulders beneath her armor. She wasn't the apprentice tonight. She wasn't the student shadowing a master. She was the commander of Tarain's Sword, leading her forces into a battlefield crafted by the man who had taught her everything she knew.

And she intended to prove—decisively—that she was ready.

Laphisto Kei Amadis

 

[Saul Whesai]

Saul didn't know where he was headed, what unit he was a part of, but he was here, cramped into one of the various shuttles coming down for orbit. And yet he was here in his armor and prepping his pistols for the big show Laphisto had planned for the locals. Well, they certainly would get one, and as the Android waited for the Shuttle's ramp to lower, readying himself for the fight head-on. One thing he knew for sure, the Supreme Commander wouldn't be pulling any punches.

Laphisto Kei Amadis Iandre Athlea

 

[Aknoby]

Aknoby stood next to his basilisk Stomper watching the instructions on a holocn, holding his helmet calmly since no direct orders had been given. He was finishing eating an energy bar, waiting for Iandre to appear and give the orders. Would she be a good commander who knows how to win over her soldiers? Would she be overly controlling and tyrannical? Would she command with a combination of affability and authority? He was curious.




Laphisto Laphisto Kei Amadis Kei Amadis Iandre Athlea Iandre Athlea Saul Whesai

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto received the report the moment one of his forward scouts pinged his comms. Iandre Athlea had made planetfall. Not only that—she had taken the forward ridge overlooking the central lowlands, establishing a commanding view across half the AO. A solid move, and one Laphisto intended to pressure immediately before she could anchor her forces.

He straightened, the stone beneath his boots rumbling faintly as an AT-AS MKII outside shifted its stance. The holo-map flickered, and Laphisto traced Iandre's movement with a gauntleted finger, watching her markers settle into defensive formation along the high ground. Good. She picked the best terrain. Time to see how she held it. Laphisto issued his first orders before the scout had even finished their transmission.

The AT-AS MKIIs stationed in the left-side village received their command burst and immediately began shifting westward, peeling wide to swing around Iandre's left flank. Their counterparts in the right-side village did the same, angling north through the jungle brush, preparing to collapse against her right. Two wide claws slowly tightening toward the ridge. The infantry movements came next.

The platoons holding the central village were instructed to fall back not retreating, but repositioning with purpose. They withdrew across the open ground and re-entered the structures of the western village, dispersing through alleyways and rooftops as they re-integrated into the defensive grid. Within minutes, machine-gun nests were taking shape on the upper floors, barricades were established, and firing lanes were measured and marked.

From above, the pattern formed clearly: walkers sweeping in a wide pincer; infantry building a hardened position along the western approach. A tightening net meant to force Iandre off the ridge or into the jaws of his armor. Laphisto watched the holofeed, arms folded behind his back, tail flicking once in silent thought. He had the initiative. She had the high ground. And the exercise had officially begun.

map key
Teal= walkers
Red= Infantry
Yellow = my understanding of where Iandres forces are

 

[Kei Amadis]

Tag: Aknoby , Saul Whesai , Laphisto , Iandre Athlea
Location North East, south of the walker pincer.

"Copy that. Heading east, won't know what hit them." Iandre Athlea The infiltration team moved in silence, led by a relatively large Houk known as Vertigo Apparently oversized Houks were stealthy; don't ask him how. Either way, the veteran unit made good time, sweeping in a wide northern arc, right up until the walkers shifted their heading.

"Walker movement, distant," Vert signaled. "Stay low." His voice was a steady, low rumble.

"Remember the time before the time before?" Amadis stated. He could barely recall the battle among the hundreds fought, let alone its planet. Vertigo only nodded. "Good times." A dozen proximity EMP charges were buried for the eastern, right-side, walkers. They'd have to clear the ground step by step to ensure the path stayed safe; and an old guerrilla tactic is to make them unsure of their step, then just when they think they are safe, one charge is held back a distance. @Laphisto

Wildcards moved quietly. Even with their head start, they'd never match machine speed, so slowing the walkers, and avoiding them head-on, was the only real option. Cutting closer to the walkers' eastern sweep than Amadis liked, they kept to the thickest undergrowth and stayed tucked just south of them behind the northern ridge. They stopped only when absolutely necessary. No rush to be seen, but every reason to keep pace. A small group bypassing the machines entirely, save for the surprises the walkers were about to step into. It wouldn't stop all of them, but: "We've left an EMP delay on those eastern walkers," Amadis comm'd to Iandre Athlea , assuming they kept their advance. He wasn't about to engage with them on the high ground.

Reaching the outer fringe of the northeastern structures, the wildcards set more timed distractions, noise, smoke, a few flashes. It was Vertigo who called it in to Iandre Athlea, his bass-rumbling tone unbothered. "We're setting a bang behind them." The goal: make the walkers and Laphisto wonder what was happening behind them, force them to turn back to find nobody there, risk a flank, or a group getting in behind the perimeter. Laphisto

Amadis let Vertigo lead, holding back the urge to break south west and strike decisively. But fighting his stubborn nature was a losing battle. He found himself walking southwestward anyway. Vertigo grumbled a low acknowledgment, getting them ready to move again, this time to come in behind the main forces. Their opponents could dig in forever, but if they stayed static, the Wildcards could pick their approach.

 

[Iandre Athlea]

The moment Vertigo's low rumble crackled through her comm, Iandre felt her pulse shift—not in fear, but in the sharpened focus that came when the battlefield finally revealed its teeth. She studied the holomap in a single sweep, absorbing the repositioning of the walkers and the infantry consolidation exactly as Laphisto wanted her to. He was already tightening the noose, forcing her ridge into a future kill-box. Good. Let him think that was where she intended to stay.

A breath steadied through her chest as she keyed into the squad channel.

"Wildcards, your placement is perfect. That delay charge will break the eastern sweep long enough for us to reposition. Remain shadowed and keep letting them step where they think the world is solid."

Her gaze flicked toward the west. Laphisto's infantry nets were thickening fast—too deliberate to crack head-on, too grounded to dislodge without committing half her force. He wanted her to try. He wanted her to meet those fortified alleys and rooftops. So she wouldn't.

She shifted her attention north, sweeping the map with one slow, calculated drag of her thumb. "We're leaving the ridge." Tarain's Sword straightened at that, but none questioned it. They had served under her enough to know she didn't move impulsively.

She pointed to the undergrowth south of the eastern walker pincer—the pocket of broken terrain where walker legs struggled, and infantry lost cohesion.

"Tarain's Sword is advancing east by northeast, staying beneath their scanning line. We're going to slip the hinge of his pincer, not fight inside it."

The holo flickered as she marked their path: a shallow descent off the ridge's backside, the vegetation dense enough to conceal movement, the slope gradual enough to stay quiet. She could almost sense Laphisto's irritation pre-emptively. He designed a trap—and she refused to stand in it long enough for it to close.

The comm chimed again—Amadis.

"EMP delay set. If they keep their advance, they'll feel it." A rare smile touched the edge of her mouth. Not amusement—approval.

"Good work. The moment the charge hits, the walkers will stagger. I need you to push southwest immediately afterward. Hit their rear guard. Force them to pull back or overextend—either is a win for us."

She slid her hand across the map a final time, aligning their movements with Amadis' flanking pressure.

"Vertigo, maintain your stealth arc. I want your team ready to slip behind those western fortifications if Laphisto turns his walkers too far inward. We're not meeting his push—we're unmaking it."

The forest wind gusted across the ridge, carrying the scent of damp earth and movement—hers, her soldiers', the unfolding test laid by the man who had taught her everything she knew about battlefield psychology.

She straightened, closing the holo. "Tarain's Sword, move." Boots shifted behind her. Armor creaked. Soldiers descended the ridge in disciplined silence.

As she followed them into the shadowed trees, she allowed herself one private thought, quiet but burning with certainty: Laphisto wants to see if I can beat him. So I will.

Not by brute force. Not by pride. But by outthinking the very traps he taught her to recognize.

The order had barely left her lips when more movement pressed into the edges of her awareness—new bodies, new presences, drawn by the momentum of command. The ridge line behind her was no longer empty. Two figures approached the forming column of Tarain's Sword, each distinct in a way that made them impossible to overlook.

Saul descended from the transport line like a weapon waiting to be fired—armor immaculate, gait sharp, movements too measured to belong to any organic being. His pistols hissed softly as he locked them into place at his hips, every motion calculated, practiced, perfectly economical. Even before he reached the gathering formation, she could sense the question radiating from him in crisp, static edges:

Where do I fit?
Where do you want me?
What purpose will I serve in this engagement?

And Aknoby stood nearby, helm tucked under his arm, half-eaten energy bar still in hand, leaning against his Basilisk as though waiting to judge whether she was worth following. His eyes followed her movements—not in challenge, but with the scrutiny of a fighter trying to understand the nature of the person who would lead him. He was searching for the shape of her command: tyrant, soft-spoken idealist, drill-sergeant, strategist.

Good.

Let them all look. Let them see.

She turned toward both of them as the last of Tarain's Sword began their quiet descent from the ridge, the shifting leaves swallowing their silhouettes.

"Saul," she called, her voice clear even through the jungle thickness. He straightened almost imperceptibly—his processors probably already extrapolating twelve tactical possibilities from her tone alone. "You're on point with the forward skirmish element. Your sensors will read the terrain faster than any scout. Feed me every fluctuation in heat, motion, or comm static along our route east by northeast."

His single nod was as sharp as a blade's edge. Good—he would move exactly as she needed him to: silent, relentless, unshakably precise.

Then she shifted her gaze to Aknoby, taking in the loose posture, the casual stance, the glint of curiosity beneath the calm. He was a contrast to Saul in every conceivable way—instinct over calculation, flexibility over programming, unpredictability wrapped in Mandalorian armor and youth.

"Aknoby," she said, stepping closer, tone steady but warm enough to bridge the gulf between her Jedi past and the warrior culture he carried. "You're with the Sword's second line. Mobile support. That Basilisk gives you the freedom to strike where our line bends or where Laphisto tries to break us. I expect you to know when to move without waiting for me to tell you."

Her eyes met his, unwavering.

"Not because I won't give you orders. But because I trust warriors to use their instincts."

That was the answer to the question he had been silently asking.
What kind of commander would she be?

Not a tyrant.
Not a figurehead.
Not a soft hand meant to soothe.

She would be a commander worthy of the Sword.

As Tarain's Sword slipped fully into the forested descent, the walkers on the flank shifting their weight and preparing to advance, Iandre fell into step at their head—armor whispering against leaves, the jungle swallowing the light behind them.

Saul moved first, ghosting between trees like a tracking beacon in human shape.

Aknoby followed next, vaulting into the saddle of his Basilisk as the machine rumbled awake beneath him, ready to break off or crash into the fight the moment opportunity demanded.

And behind them all, Tarain's Sword flowed through the underbrush in disciplined silence, a well-honed blade sliding into the shadowed sheath of the terrain.

Iandre let her fingers tap the side of her helm, activating the unit-wide encrypted channel.

"All elements, stay low and follow the line. Wildcards have set the board—we're moving to collapse the pincer from below. East by northeast, two klicks. Stay silent. Stay fluid. And stay sharp."

The wind shifted.

The jungle bent.

And Iandre Athlea led her force into the heart of the trap Laphisto believed he had set—intent not to escape it…

…but to turn it inside out.

Kei Amadis Laphisto Aknoby Saul Whesai

 

[Saul Whesai]

Well, it seemed like they were going to use old Rebel Alliance tactics... Hearing the creaking of walker's joints in the distance as they clattered down the ridge after unloading from the transport's and set the EMP mines. It was clear the oppsition would try to get around the ridge and try to pin them down for the infantry to crush them. Giving a quick scan around as they moved out, the Android told Iandre the results. "North and Northeast are fine... No Hostiles that I can see... We are going to have to find someplace to hunker down and wait for those mines to be activated." He had given his two cents, now they could only wait for the orders to come down, telling them what to do.

Iandre Athlea , Laphisto , Kei Amadis , Aknoby

 

[Aknoby]

Aknoby sees Iandre approaching, and when she starts talking, he smiles, his eyes seeming to sparkle. He nods his head in agreement.

"Sure thing, Stomper and I are eager to test how we fare in long-range combat."

He puts on his helmet and jumps onto the basilisk, settling in as the combat droid begins to move.

"Well, so we'll literally be the sword between the anvil and the hammer?"

He asks Iandre on a closed channel, his voice sounding calm but with a hint of excitement, showing a certain self-control.

Iandre Athlea Laphisto Saul Whesai Kei Amadis